


you were a kindness, when i was a stranger

by morzz



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morzz/pseuds/morzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Biblical AU] The very first time you fall in love is subsequently also your last. In fact, it will be the only time you will ever fall in love. There is only one for you and it is him. You know who he is. His world may be written on your back, but your life is in your hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you were a kindness, when i was a stranger

**Author's Note:**

> roy as the godly messiah, and riza as his mary magdalene.
> 
> for blake, who inspired me in the first place.

               "Actually, you said  _Love, for you,_

                                                 is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s

                                                                                                                terrifying. No one

_will ever want to sleep with you._ "

 

* * *

 

I.

The very first time you fall in love is subsequently also your last. In fact, it will be the only time you will ever fall in love. There is only one for you and it is him. You know who he is. His world may be written on your back, but your life is in your hands. Palms, fingers, knuckles, wrists, and all. You get to touch. You get to feel. He wears gloves and your hands are bare. Once upon a time, it is your hands that were pale and taut. Once upon a time, it is your hands become guns that shoot silvers and protects lives.

The day you meet him will be one to change lives. He is your father’s apprentice, and you are your father’s daughter. It’s no doubt that he loved him more than he loved you. It’s no doubt that Roy Mustang will be more of a son than Riza Hawkeye ever will. Your father who is almost godly, untouchable. You’ve heard stories in the bible – “And God said, let there be light; and there was light.” Well your father is a powerful man, you know this. When he said, let there be fire; there was fire. Coming from his fingertips, as if he mastered playing with it. We all know that God is God; and God is cruel, and so was he.

The day you meet him he will stand there with his undone dark hair and a boyish face that still lingers now. His face will burn in your head and you will feel like a headache. You will feel almost faint;  his presence enlightening, incandescent. You become acquaintances. But you keep your distance because that's all you've known to do. You don't meddle with your father's business and you don't meddle with him. But he flickers in your mind a little more often than he should. Your memories of him are complacent, they are serene. They are white blurs of skin and gloves and fingers. He always had such nice hands. It was such a small part of your life, but you remember it all too clearly. From the silent lunches and dinners you've shared to the flicker of light in your backyard.

The marks on your back are quiet reminders. Quiet reminders of cruel fathers and burning Gods watching your every move. Quiet reminders of terror and plague; marks of science etched to perfection. Your body is a mass destruction; your body can kill, and all you did to become of it was really nothing. You remember that day, that one particular day. The first time you ever had a conversation. He asked you if you believed in God, but you answered, "No, because God is too cruel. He would not have taken my mother away. He would have never created fire. He would still love me."

You wouldn’t have known it then, but the way you saw fire – it was malignant, cataclysmic. It isn’t until you grow older that you finally understand. But at that moment you answered no, and when he asked you what _did_ you believe in, you wanted to say you believed in a better future. You wouldn't have known it then, but he is your constant. He is the destiny you craved so much, you couldn't sleep.

You scream when your father inks your back, and think of Roy Mustang.

 

* * *

 

II.

Your father had been sick for a long time. When his time passes, you flinch at all the things he's caused. You grieve but never longer than you should. After all, you've also been stronger than what people perceive. There are fragments though, of the legacies he's kept that you just can't help holding to. The first being the anguish on your back. The second being him.

He tells you about the dreams and the world he envisioned after the war. Because all he wanted was to protect the people he loved. And in exchange, you lend him your back because this time, you saw fire differently. Fire was still a weapon. You could never forget how much it hurt to burn, but weapons fight wars. Roy Mustang would hold the key to the future, and you would've entrusted it to him with all your life. You follow him into the war because his face still scorches your mind like a hot pillar of pain. Besides, you joined the army because you needed something to do. It was a matter of making yourself useful. You follow him because he was the only thing close to home left. You follow him because he protects the future you crave so dearly.

But of course, the war in Ishval has been going badly. You lose him. He is the alchemist, he is the heat that runs through veins. And you are the sniper; a gun in exchange for an arm. You become the eyes like a hawk in the air. Watching, always watching. In the night, the music of the bombs starts playing; the melody always innocent, the conductor corrupt. The dissonant lullabies make you cringe.

When you lose him, you do not weep. When he goes missing in action, you do not weep. When the thought of him lingers in your mind, you do not weep. Because you joined this war to protect him and having not succeeded kills you just a tiny bit. The battle was his, and his job was to do what he did best:  institute an inferno. You couldn’t have come by his side to save him because you are only a marksman. Marksmen aren’t heroes.

Three days and three nights later, when you go on watch, the desert looks like an empty infinity of sand and stillness, except for the cave approximately fifty miles away from the base. It just sits there, uninviting and grainy. You never think of it anything of it. The place is halcyon and harsh all at the same time,and dawn has never looked so feeble and dark. It’s boundless, it makes you sick. But in the dim atmosphere, in the very corner of your eye, you see flickers of light and shadows coming from that cave. And you think, _it wouldn’t hurt to visit._

So when you walk there, your heart beats a little more faster than it should. And when you get there, your hands grip the gun a little tighter than you should. When your vision clears, you see a figure and it is only lying down restless and breathless, and you realize God must’ve intended for him to come back as he only belonged to you. And you belong to him, because you protect him and he protects your future. Roy Mustang haunted by his visions, drained and consumed, laid on the sand motionless. When you realize your tears concoct and spill all over his bloody body, he stirs. When he sees you, he murmurs your name like a prayer. He is not dead, and you weep. When he asks you why you are crying, you tell him, “Because they took you away, and I couldn’t have followed you there.”

“Well, I’m alive now, Riza,” he murmurs weakly. _“I’m sorry I hurt you.”_

To hear, that is enough.

 

* * *

 

III.

After the war, you let go of the children you have buried and you let go of the legacy you've salvaged. Because you can never atone yourself from the suffering you have caused. You participated in a genocide and your sins are imprinted on your back as living reminders of trepidation. You don't think of screaming for one second, and you don't. The pain he gives you doesn't hurt as much as the lives you've took. You don't look back. You try not to.

There will always be whispers at Central Command. _His wife._ The military's a fraud. They don't look twice at perennial loyalty. They don't understand that his weakness is actually his strength. Because you are his queen, and you protect him. In a game of chess, queens are the most valuable, and half the men at Central do not play chess.

The toll of promises goes high, and you've never broken any of them. After all, by the end of the day, promises are the only things you have. They are so close, they can almost feel tangible. You promise that you will follow him into hell, if he so desires. In return, he promises you the future you've always wanted, like a present in a Christmas box. You promise yourself that he will never get hurt, not at least while you're alive. You sacrifice your whole being for his. Because you've known each other too long, and you can't afford to lose him.

You follow his campaign because you decided that he is the stone you set your life on. Not only that, you follow him because _you love him._ Maybe that was the only sin you've ever really committed in the first place; to love someone to the highest degree. To love someone so holy and god-touched, someone who's fingertips are consumed by flames. Maybe you've never said it out loud. _You love him._

He is yours, and you are his; truly, that is a lifetime to live for.


End file.
